The next days passed like storms—fast, violent, and reshaping everything in their path.
Kael fought. Again and again. In the Master's Trial, there were no rest days, no second chances. You either killed or died. And Kael—he conquered.
By the end of the week, eight of the academy's top-ranked assassins had fallen. Some by blade. Others by shadow. A few never even had time to scream.
The whispers began.
> "He doesn't bleed." "He speaks to the dark like it listens." "His shadow moves before he does…"
Kael didn't correct them. Let fear grow—it made things easier.
---
The Court Begins
His reputation did more than frighten—it drew followers.
Talia became his second. Deadly, loyal, and clever enough to help organize what was forming beneath the surface of the academy: a faction that answered only to Kael.
Next came Brann, a berserker slave who once tore a wolf apart with his bare hands. Kael had saved him from an execution duel, pulling him out of the sand pit with a single command: "Rise."
Then Mira—a quiet girl with necrotic eyes who communicated with the dead. Kael had found her in the crypt cells beneath the arena, imprisoned for crimes even the academy feared. But shadows whispered her name—and Kael listened.
Together, they became the core of his Shadowbound Court.
He didn't demand loyalty with words. He proved himself, again and again, as a shield to the crushed, a sword to the hunted, and a nightmare to those who tried to dominate.
---
Chains Shatter, Masters Fall
On the eighth trial, Kael was matched against two opponents at once.
A master-blade sorcerer and a telekinetic slaver named Wren. Both were champions of the arena. Both were favorites of the academy's instructors. Both believed Kael was just lucky.
They didn't believe that for long.
Wren attempted to control Kael's body with psychic chains—glowing ropes of mental energy that had enslaved dozens before.
Kael stood still as the chains wrapped around him—then smiled.
He whispered: "Break."
His shadow exploded outward like black fire, slicing through Wren's chains with ease. He closed the distance in a blur of movement, reappearing behind Wren.
Wren turned—too slow.
Kael's shadow burst from the ground like a jagged spike, impaling him through the chest and raising him off the ground like a banner.
The sorcerer tried to run. He didn't make it five steps before Kael's shadow rose around his feet, encasing his legs in obsidian-like darkness and freezing him in place.
Kael walked over.
"No mercy," the sorcerer gasped.
Kael's voice was quiet. "No need."
The man's shadow turned against him—strangling its master.
When the dust cleared, Kael stood alone in the arena again.
---
The Turning Point
That night, Kael returned to his chamber—not the slave quarters, but a high-tier assassin's den now claimed by power.
Talia was waiting, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
"The council's watching you more closely now," she said. "You've gone from curiosity to threat."
Kael nodded. "Let them watch. I want them to see what's coming."
Brann entered next, armor dented and bloody from another fight. He dropped a blackened coin at Kael's feet. "Another oath pledged. Seventeen now wear your mark."
Kael picked up the coin, studying the crest etched on it. A simple emblem: a circle broken by a fang.
His mark.
"We need more," he said. "More than slaves. More than killers. We need believers."
Mira stepped from the shadows like mist. "Believers we can find. But belief alone won't win the war."
Kael looked out the chamber window at the moonlit arena.
"No," he said. "But fear... and faith together? That builds an empire."
And deep in the walls of the academy, in old corridors forgotten by time, shadows whispered one word over and over, echoing in the darkness:
> Kael.